Bourbon in My Toolbox

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(Verse 1)
I showed up at dawn with my steel-toed boots,
Sweat on my brow, ready to earn my loot.
But by break time, man, I needed a sip,
So I stashed some bourbon where my wrench should sit.
Boss man caught me, said, “What’s that smell?”
I said, “Just a little courage to get through this hell.”
(Chorus)
Now I’m sittin’ at home with no walls to frame,
My woman’s on fire, she’s callin’ my name.
She said, “You’re no tough guy, you’re just a clown,
And you traded your paycheck for bourbon downtown.”
(Verse 2)
The jackhammer roared, my back was in knots,
The sun beat down like a furnace forgot.
So I reached in my box, took a little swig,
Didn’t think that sip would dig my grave so big.
But the foreman saw me, and he shook his head,
“Pack up your tools, son, you’re good as dead.”
(Chorus)
Now I’m sittin’ at home with no walls to frame,
My woman’s on fire, she’s callin’ my name.
She said, “You’re no tough guy, you’re just a clown,
And you traded your paycheck for bourbon downtown.”
(Bridge)
Now the dog won’t bark, and the truck won’t start,
She says, “You better fix more than just my heart.
I need a man who’s steady and true,
Not one who’s pickling his problems in 90 proof blue.”
“in 90 proof blue!”
(Verse 3)
Next day, I woke with a hammering head,
But I grabbed my boots and worked hard instead.
No flask in my bag, just a lunch packed tight,
I’ll earn back her trust if it takes all night.
She met me at the door with a plate in hand,
Said, “You screw up again, boy, you better have a plan.”
(Outro Chorus)
No more bourbon on the job, I’ve seen the light,
My woman’s my reason to make it right.
She said, “You’re no tough guy, but you’re not a clown,
Just keep your whiskey at home, and I’ll stick around.”

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The Band

Think of us as emotional landscapers: we rip out your buried feelings, splash ’em with whiskey, and drop a power‑chord seed—soon you’ve got heartbreak blooming loud enough to shake the porchlights two counties over.

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